


Ren Faire

by janto321 (FaceofMer)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Greg Lestrade, Established Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Established Relationship, Innuendo, Kilts, M/M, Oral Sex, Renaissance Faires, Top Mycroft Holmes, Topping from the Bottom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-27
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:08:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24937333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaceofMer/pseuds/janto321
Summary: Mycroft and Greg to a Ren Faire.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade
Comments: 10
Kudos: 115





	Ren Faire

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sanguisuga](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanguisuga/gifts).



"You don't have any plans for this weekend, right?" asked Greg, coming into Mycroft’s home office, where he was going over some papers.

Mycroft put his work aside. "Not that I'm aware of, why?"

Greg smiled. "I've got two tickets to a renaissance faire."

Mycroft blinked at him a few times. "Why?"

"Because they're fun," said Greg. He leaned over and kissed Mycroft. "And besides, it'll give me a chance to wear the kilt I picked up last year."

Mycroft was silent a moment as he processed the thought of a Greg in a kilt. "You're not Scottish," he said at last.

"No, but half the fun of a faire is playing dress-up." Greg grinned at him. "Besides, you admire my calves."

"I've no complaint about any of you," said Mycroft. He sighed. "I suppose you'll want me in some costume."

"You're a peacock. I didn't think I'd have to twist your arm very hard," said Greg.

Mycroft bristled. "I am not a peacock. Sherlock is, but I am not."

"A penguin, then?" suggested Greg. He leaned and kissed him before he could argue. "Only joking, love. And you don't have to dress up, but I'd love it if you did."

"I will see what I can accomplish before Saturday," promised Mycroft with amusement in his voice.

"Wonderful. I'll be here to pick you up at eight."

**

Early on Saturday morning, Greg pulled up in front of Mycroft's home. Greg nearly did a double-take as Mycroft stepped out, wearing a pair of white tights and a rather short blue and white tunic, belted around his waist.

Mycroft smirked as he got into the car. "Acceptable?"

"You're going to be distracting as hell," said Greg, nearly growling as he put a hand on Mycroft's knee.

Mycroft leaned in and kissed him. "You can talk. Come on, we may as well go to this place since we're all dressed up."

Greg squeezed his knee, then turned his attention to driving, backing carefully out of Mycroft's drive, his mind not entirely on the road in front of him.

They reached the faire and Greg paid for parking. Mycroft was relieved to see that they weren't the only ones dressed for the occasion. Certainly, not everyone was period accurate, but obviously they were here to have fun.

Greg was good at making him have fun.

They parked and got out of the car. Greg reached over to take his hand as they walked to the entrance gates. Mycroft tried to force himself to relax and take in the atmosphere, catching the sound of music from somewhere nearby.

They got through the gates and Mycroft realized Greg had acquired a program from somewhere. "We should probably watch the joust," said Greg. "And I'd like to see the birds of prey show. Anything you'd like to see or do?"

Mycroft shrugged. "Lay on Macduff."

Greg laughed and took his hand again, leading him deeper into the grounds. Mycroft found himself relaxing as they wandered through the shops, browsing the wide variety of handmade wares.

"There's a fortune teller," said Greg, nodding at a small shop set back a bit from the others. 

Mycroft looked at him indulgently. "I suppose you wish to have our fortunes told."

"Might be interesting," said Greg. "Come on, I'll buy."

Mycroft shook his head but followed Greg over to the queue. Greg squeezed his hand and then dropped it. Mycroft idly observed the crowd, silently deducing to himself as they slowly moved forward. He noticed that most of those leaving seemed surprised or intrigued, and a few were laughing. Most interesting.

Finally, Greg and Mycroft reached the front of the queue. Greg paid the assistant and they were led past a heavy curtain into a darkened room. A woman of indeterminate age sat at a table, shuffling a deck of cards. 

Greg and Mycroft sat down and she looked them over critically before putting the cards aside. "May I see your hands?" she asked.

Mycroft shrugged and put his hand on the table. Greg followed suit.

She ran her hands over their palms for a few long moments. "It's taken you a journey to get here, I see," she said. "There was reticence and uncertainty on both sides, but now you are happily joined as one."

Mycroft didn't find that particularly insightful, but he kept his mouth shut. Greg looked more interested in what she had to say, but she turned towards Mycroft. "You don't believe in me. That's fine, the spirits don't care about your belief." She gave an enigmatic smile, then looked at their hands again before looking at Greg.

"You've been unlucky in love before, committed to someone not worth your time. Don't be afraid of this one. You'll know when the time is right."

Greg blinked a few times, then nodded.

She looked back to Mycroft. "You wield a great power of your own. Be mindful of those underfoot, and don't forget to tend to your own needs. A garden produces bountifully when it is taken care of."

"Thank you," murmured Mycroft. Greg smiled at her. "Thank you."

They were shown out of the small room and were soon blinking in the sunshine. 

"Well, that was something," said Mycroft.

Greg smiled at him. "She wasn't wrong," he said. "Come on, I'm hungry and I think I'd like to try one of those turkey legs."

Mycroft shook his head but followed after him. "I suppose we should eat lunch."

"Yeah, tend your garden," said Greg, getting into line.

Mycroft eyed the large drumstick. "I'm not certain my arteries would agree."

Greg chuckled. "You're here to indulge."

"Am I?" asked Mycroft, resting a hand on the small of Greg's back and not missing his shiver.

"You can indulge in  _ that _ later," said Greg, not moving away from his touch.

"Mmm," said Mycroft. "You get us the weapons disguised as lunch, I'll go get us drinks," he said, nodding at a nearby stall selling mead and wine.

They reconvened a few minutes later, sitting at a table under an old oak tree. Mycroft sipped his mead while Greg tackled his drumstick. "Thank you," Mycroft said quietly.

Greg raised an eyebrow. "For?"

"This. You're right, I needed some time away."

Greg nodded. "If we're going to keep up the metaphor, I'm happy to be your gardener."

Mycroft waited until he'd swallowed his next bite. "At least you rather do enjoy plowing."

Greg nearly choked anyway, taking a long swig of his drink. "And you, sir, are a dangerous man."

"Thank you," said Mycroft with a smile, squeezing Greg's knee under the table. He let go to pick up his turkey leg, attempting to eat it without making a mess.

Greg chuckled. "Give in to your inner Celt and just devour it."

As if to prove his point, Greg tore off a hunk of meat with his teeth, watching him.

Mycroft rolled his eyes and resumed what he was doing.

"Oh, we're gonna miss the bird of prey show," said Greg. "Come on, eat on the way."

Mycroft got to his feet and followed Greg through the crowd, doing his best to eat and walk.

They stood outside the gate to the show and took the last few bites before disposing of their trash and heading inside. "I didn't know you liked this sort of thing," said Mycroft.

"I'd be a rubbish falconer, but I think it's fascinating," said Greg. 

"You do have a penchant towards the dangerous," said Mycroft.

Greg chuckled and leaned closer. "Maybe I should blindfold you, sometime."

Mycroft cleared his throat. Well, that was only fair after the ploughing comment. "I think you'd find me a difficult creature to tame."

"Just need to feed you up," chuckled Greg.

"I suppose that works on beasts of all kinds," said Mycroft, settling in as the falconer came out and addressed the crowd.

It was very interesting. Mycroft found himself oohing and ahhing with the rest of the crowd at the powerful birds. Greg was enraptured for the entire show and happily dropped money in when they passed the hat.

"What next?" asked Mycroft.

"Well probably the tournament, but we have a bit of time. Maybe we can do some shopping," said Greg.

"Alright," said Mycroft, following him out of the bird area. 

They wandered through the shops as they made their way towards the tournament grounds. Greg ended up buying an intricately carved knife. Mycroft picked up a print of a bat that had been taken from some marginalia. Greg carried the bag as they found their way to the bleachers and took a seat.

"I'm sure this is all done more safely than it was in the middle ages," said Mycroft.

"Well, I hope so," said Greg. "It's all part of the show, anyway. What do you think, should I pick up some chainmail? Maybe a breastplate."

"That seems more difficult to get you out of than this kilt," said Mycroft.

"Yeah but I bet you'd like to see me handle a broadsword," grinned Greg.

"I am going to avoid that low-hanging fruit," muttered Mycroft, turning his attention to the faire's King and Queen as they came out to start the tournament.

Greg's hand was warm as it covered Mycroft's. Mycroft noticed another gay couple a few rows away, leaning against one another. It was nice to see, especially in surroundings such as this.

Mycroft spent more of the tournament watching Greg, who was cheering for his chosen champion with the same enthusiasm he had during football matches. It was almost startling to realize that he was really, truly happy and having fun, here on a rough wooden bleacher in these ridiculous clothes. But Greg was here and that was the most important thing. 

Finally, the tournament finished. Greg yawned and stretched as they got up, making sure to grab their bags. He leaned over and kissed Mycroft's cheek. "Walk around a bit more?"

"Alright," said Mycroft. "But maybe we should start wandering towards the exit."

Greg nodded and they got to their feet. They passed into an area with a number of games. Mycroft smiled as he saw an archery area. "Shall I win you a prize?" he asked.

"Oh, can you shoot a bow?" asked Greg.

"I haven't done it in some time, let's see if I recall how it's done."

"I would rather like to see that," smiled Greg.

Mycroft nodded and strode over to stall. He spoke quietly to the woman running it and paid her, glancing at Greg before taking his quiver and bow. 

Mycroft turned his focus on the target and notched the first arrow. The first show was wide to the left. He nodded, adjusted his stance. The second was closer. 

He took a breath, sighted in, and noted the wind. The third air was dead center. Mycroft smiled a little and stayed on target, sending the rest of the quiver in a neat grouping in and around the center.

When he finished he turned and looked at Greg.

"Well, I'll just call you William Tell from now on," he said.

"That's hardly necessary," said Mycroft, returning the quiver and bow to the woman and accepting a small stuffed bear dressed as Robin Hood as a prize.

He presented it to Greg, who grinned and gave it a quick hug before putting it in with the shopping. "He's going on the dresser." 

"I'm sure he'll be honored," said Mycroft.

"Should I ask how you learned to shoot a bow?" asked Greg.

Mycroft smiled. "I'll tell you later," he said.

Greg rolled his eyes. "Fine. You and your mysteries."

"A man must have some hobbies."

Greg chuckled and bumped his shoulder against Mycroft's.

They walked around a little more but eventually made their way towards the exit. "This has been fun," said Mycroft.

"I'm glad you indulged me," said Greg with a smile.

"You're very welcome."

Greg got the car door for Mycroft. Mycroft took the bag from him and settled in, putting his hand on Greg's knee.

Greg wet his lips. "I don't have to rush out of this kilt," he said.

"Good," said Mycroft. "Perhaps we can go sit in the garden when we get home."

"You always have the best ideas," said Greg.

Mycroft smiled at him. "Thank you."

Greg got them home as soon as he could. Mycroft took his hand and led him into the house, grabbing a throw from the couch on his way out the back door. 

Laughing, Greg gave him a quick kiss. "I need to grab something, go get comfortable."

Mycroft rolled his eyes but went on out the door, spreading the blanket beneath the old tree in a corner of the garden. He sat down, arranging himself in what he hoped was a beguiling pose.

Greg appeared a moment later, grinning at him, setting down the bottle of lube on a corner of the throw as he climbed over Mycroft and kissed him soundly. Mycroft slid his hands up Greg's thighs. "Are you wearing it like a true Scotsman?" he asked.

"Well, I am now. I didn't want to scandalize anyone at the faire." Greg set his sporran aside and hitched up his kilt. 

"Mmm, you've got no complaints from me," said Mycroft, sliding his hands around to squeeze Greg's arse.

"As if you've got room to talk in those tights," said Greg, reaching down to cup his cock. "Been thinking about you all day."

"I know," said Mycroft with a warm smile, kissing him again.

Greg reached for Mycroft's waistband, pulling the tights down and off, admiring Mycroft's long legs. "We're a terrible pair of teases," he said. 

"On occasion," said Mycroft, parting his thighs.

Greg smirked and grabbed the lube. He knelt forward to taste Mycroft's cock, but to Mycroft's surprise, he reached back to tease himself open.

Raising his head a moment, Greg smiled at him. "Want to ride you," he declared, before going back to Mycroft's cock.

Mycroft could hardly argue, especially as Greg took him all the way down. He moaned quietly, trying not to choke him as he shifted. Greg was quite talented with his tongue, especially when he'd been wound up for half the day, and Mycroft found himself nearly overwhelmed already.

Greg must have realized his closeness, because he pulled off and wiped his mouth, moving up to straddle Mycroft's hips. Mycroft put his hands on Greg's waist, steadying him as he bore down with a low groan.

There were few things in life more amazing than the sensation of being joined with Greg. Mycroft's eyes were tightly closed, feeling the wool of the kilt against his skin and the weight of Greg's body.

Greg leaned down to kiss him, moving steadily before sitting up again and grinding down against him.

Mycroft forced open his eyes to watch the pleasure play across Greg's face. He slipped a hand under the kilt and stroked Greg's cock. Greg moaned and rocked against his grip, squeezing around Mycroft.

Mycroft let go of his cock and wrapped his arms around Greg's waist, rolling them over.

Greg smiled warmly up at Mycroft, eyes slamming closed as he started to move. Mycroft watched his face as he took him, leaning down to kiss Greg and take his pleasure. Greg seemed perfectly happy to give himself over and surrender to Mycroft's need.

Plus, Mycroft had to admit he rather liked the sight of Greg with his kilt hitched up over his thighs, his cock heavy and leaking. 

"I love you," he murmured, slowing his thrusts.

Greg opened his eyes and smiled up at him again. "I love you, too. Thank you for letting me take you out."

"It was fun, and I do believe the rewards were well worth it, don't you?"

"Oh yes," groaned Greg as Mycroft took him in hand and started to stroke him off, twisting his wrist as he reached the head of his cock. Gregory in ecstasy was a sight that should be preserved in marble.

"Fill me up," murmured Greg, cocking one eye open again.

Mycroft nodded and let go fo his cock, bracing himself as he started taking Greg hard.

Greg moaned softly, holding Mycroft's forearms. Mycroft's own eyes slipped close as he neared his climax, coming with a groan.

After a few moments of Mycroft getting his breath back, Greg rolled them over again, carefully moving off of Mycroft's cock and shifting forward.

Mycroft obediently opened his mouth as Greg braced himself over him. Greg looked down and then closed his eyes again as Mycroft got to work, reveling in the taste and feel of him heavy on his tongue.

Greg came just a few moments later, moaning softy. Mycroft swallowed his release, shivering with pleasure.

Finally, Greg pulled back and flopped by his side. Mycroft turned his head and kissed him.

"Does this mean you'll go next year?" asked Greg.

"It does seem likely," said Mycroft.

"Good. And maybe I'll find some reason to wear this kilt between now and then."

Mycroft fingered the material. "I rather hope you do."

**Author's Note:**

> Much thanks to beltainefaerie and astudyinfic for giving it a read over.


End file.
